I want to go home.
Soon, Shelby. Soon you can go home. I pause, give my pounding head a chance to settle down some. As I do, I think of the seven Councilors who are still alive. And wonder, again, what they want with Shelby. Obviously she has power—she wouldn’t be able to connect with me if she didn’t—but is that power worth bleeding her for? Worth killing her for?
Shelby, do you want to play a game with me?
I like games.
I smile at the childish enthusiasm in her voice. It’s so much better than the hopelessness I heard a little while ago. Me, too.
What’s the game?
I want you to think really hard about the people who have been hurting you.
I don’t like this game.
No, no. It’s a good game. I’ll list something about them and you tell me if I’m right or wrong. If I’m right, I get a point. If I’m wrong, you get a point. If you can tell me why I’m wrong, you get two points. Sound good?
What do I get if I win?
Hopefully freedom. When I asked before, Shelby couldn’t remember anything about what her captors looked like, except that they were mean and scary. Now that I’m pretty sure she’s being held by a Councilor, I’m hoping I can help her remember more about who has her. Not that there’s any guarantee that she’s actually seen her captor as opposed to just his or her servants, but still, it’s worth a shot.
If you win, once you get home, I’ll take you out for the biggest hot fudge sundae ever. And if I win, I’ll still take you out for that sundae. How does that sound? It’s a win-win situation.
I like caramel sundaes.
Caramel it is then. Whatever you want, the sky’s the limit.
Silence for a moment, then, Okay.
Great! I think about the Councilors for a moment, remember what she said about the woman being the one who gave the orders. There are currently two female Councilors, so it seems as good a place as any to start with them.
The woman who comes to your room sometimes.
Yes? I hate how scared Shelby suddenly sounds, any excitement she had in playing this game with me completely gone.
Does she have long red hair?
No.
Okay. That’s a point for you.
Shelby giggles. This is easy.
It is, isn’t it? You can get another point if you tell me what color hair she does have.
It’s black.
Good. That’s another point for you.
Two for me, none for you.
You’re right. I need to get on the board soon. So, if the woman actually is a Councilor, then we’re down to Vera Alradano—she’s the only one with black hair. Is her hair short?
No. It’s long and curly like my mommy’s. But it’s not as pretty as my mommy’s.
Damn it. Not Vera, then. Unless she’s wearing a wig, but I can’t imagine that she would be. Not when every instinct I have is screaming that there is no way she plans to let Shelby go. And if she doesn’t plan on letting her live, then there’s no reason to worry about a disguise.
That’s another point for me, Xandra.
I know. You’re really good at this game. Are her eyes brown or black, like her hair?
No.
No? Are you sure?
They’re green, like my cat’s. I don’t like her eyes. They’re mean and scary.
Wow. She sounds ugly.
She is! Like Cinderella’s mean old stepmom. And she smells funny, too.
I latch onto that description, even though it might not mean anything. A lot of witches smell funny to nonmagical people, because of the herbs and incense used in rituals. What does she smell like, sweetheart?
Like chewing gum from my mommy’s purse. Shelby starts to cry a little and I immediately backtrack.
Do you want to stop the game, honey?
I don’t like this game.
Okay. Then it’s done.
“Xandra!” The voice is back, more impatient—more frantic—than before. This time I can hear it better, can tell that it’s rough, masculine. And it belongs to someone much older than Shelby.
Wait! She calls out. Don’t go!
I’m not going anywhere, I tell her. Except that doesn’t feel exactly true. Already, my head is hurting worse and it’s harder to hear her than it was.
Xandra, please. I’ll play the game. Don’t go! Please don’t go!
She’s crying again in earnest now, and, strange as it may sound, I can feel her clutching at me with her little hands. She’s trying to hold me to her with every ounce of strength she possesses. I try to reach out, to hold on to her, but my hands won’t move.
“Xandra!”
Every second that passes makes it harder and harder for me to hear her. The voice calling my name is getting louder now, more insistent. More anxious. I can’t fight it any longer.
Xandra, please! Don’t leave me.
I’ll come back, I tell her. As soon as I can, I’ll come back.